Without a Heartbeat
by Genis Aurion
Summary: [slash, oneshot]. All I wanted was to write something emotionally heartfelt. Maybe this time I've somewhat succeeded.


I need to write something… fast. And I mean something meaningful. It sucks because so badly do I want to write or read something that'll make me cry and let go of all this hatred I'm holding, but I can't seem to get it out of my system…

I'm hoping that if there are any talented writers out there… I dunno, maybe write something for me? That's my plea, I suppose. Of course, I doubt anyone would, but just in case…

I'm bound to have people exit this window immediately when they learn it's a KyleCartman angst fic… But please, give it a try?—_this might be my last one-shot_, ever.  
**Dedications at the end**

**Without a Heartbeat  
**_Zakuyoe_

Everyone just thinks I'm fat. They won't even give me a chance…

I really wish people really didn't "judge a book by its cover." Maybe if they judged me based on what's inside… maybe I wouldn't be the obese boy no one wants to sit beside on the bus. Maybe, then, people wouldn't be so hesitant in inviting me to their pool parties.

To them I'm only Eric Cartman, the anti-Semitic, ginger-hating boy aspiring to rid the world of hippies, a boy so out of the ordinary people forget I'm capable of human emotion, that my mind's actually capable of thinking in a manner unlike my speech. To them I'm incapable of showing empathy, sympathy, and any other type of "pathy"—except apathy; how much worse it becomes when they find out I'm able to love.

In their eyes the only thing I'm capable of loving is food. Cheesy poofs, chocolates, and pot-pies… only the delicacies I'm able to love. But I'm so much more able. Beyond my love for Hitler lies another love—not the porn-love in Kenny's mind, but a love not everyone will so readily accept.

I surely didn't, or at least not right away. I wouldn't trust anyone with this, or course, so on the night of my realization I locked myself in my basement, doing everything in my power to rid myself of this human yet unwanted feeling. I slammed my head into particularly hard objects, I gave myself horrifying threats, and I did all else in my power to remove myself of this filthy emotion.

In the end I found condolence in an old friend. With a head ringing with pain and with hitched breath I plundered the packed boxes to find the one person who I knew wouldn't ignore me.

I found him stowed away in "TO BE DONATED."

"Yeh know," I told him when I had settled down. "You've been there for me when I needed yeh the most… And I know lately I haven't been talking to yeh… I feel like I can confide in yeh…"

Of course, immediately following that had been hours upon hours of screaming and crying and completely illogical self reasoning, all falling along the lines of "BUT I HATE THE GODDAMN JEWBOY!—WHY HIM?" I suppose hysteria would always be the first emotion, and even though I know Clyde Frog can't respond he's served his purpose well.

Learning to accept thereafter hadn't been easy. Initially it had been an issue of liking someone other than a female. I have nothing against homosexuality, mind you, especially since I'm so accustomed to it after being around Mr. Slave and Big Gay Al for so long. No, it was because _I_ was the homosexual. Even more, it was because _he_ was the person I liked.

Eric Cartman isn't supposed to have any favorable feelings for Kyle Broflovski. It's my rule, his rule, their rule—and yet it was slowly violated, up to the point that now I've completely crossed that marked border. Why him, of all people? Why the epitome of all annoying Kosher people, why the so-accused daywalker who's supposedly responsible for the 9-11 attacks (all accused by me, of course)?

I suppose I'm obligated to rip on Kyle—it's the only way I can hide these feelings. Being a complete ass to him only fulfills my anti-Semitic nature; I doubt anyone would expect me to do it to hide my ulterior motives. And it works too—Kyle snaps back at me with the same tone, Stan and Kenny take it as me ripping on his Jewish heritage yet again, and no one else seems to notice.

Then again, I suppose I'm also obligated to him because he has my other kidney.

But it goes against all of my policies to have feelings for him. He's an absolute asshole and yet I like him. We're two opposite poles that repel each other because we're so different (or had it been two of the same pole?—I wasn't paying attention), and yet somehow internally I feel for him. Is it sympathy?—do I feel sorry for everything I say to him?—do I really want to change the way I act around him? Is that what I'm feeling?

But how can I both hate and love him? I'm Eric Cartman—I'm supposed to hate Kyle Broflovski just as much as my actions show it, just as much as he hates me because of it. I'm not supposed to have any favorable feelings for Kyle Broflovski; I'm not supposed to want anything more than a mutual friendship from him, let alone want what these feelings yearn for.

No. It wasn't easy accepting the idea that my feelings were going against what I believed in. Sometimes I did wish I really couldn't think intellectually as people thought I couldn't, that I couldn't feel for others like many thought I couldn't. But in the end I learned to accept the situation—I decided that Kyle love is larger than Hitler love.

But then, what now?

I thought at first of ignoring the feeling. Realizing that I liked Kyle was one thing, but not acting upon those feelings was an entirely different manner. I would remain completely Cartman if I downed the feelings forever in my heart, and even though it'd never allow the world to know I'm capable of anything remotely human I'd be somewhat happy, happy that no one would ever see me as a fucking hypocrite…

I tried that for a whole week. And _everyone_ knows how Eric Cartman is like when in his mind time doesn't pass.

Plunging the feelings out of my life would cost me more sleepless nights and more therapeutic sessions with Clyde Frog. It just didn't work. It was all about the human emotions once more; my insides longed to tell him of these feelings of mine every time I saw him: every time he was beside Stan, every time he yelled a remark regarding my weight, every time he'd indulge himself in his Kosher world in the cafeteria—each of those times my insides would eat me out.

It was during my fourth session with Clyde Frog when I had decided I'd tell him. Locked up alone in the basement by myself once more gave me the idea that telling him wouldn't be bad at all. If I did tell him, and if things went wrong, I'd be more able to satisfy my role as Cartman to absolutely rip on him, and my feelings for him would subside. Ultimately, telling Kyle was clearly the better choice.

Despite my resolve I still haven't told him. But I know it'll be soon when I do, though—the only reason why I haven't told Kyle my feelings yet is because it's almost impossible separating two Super-Best-Friends. Not to mention the fact that it's almost impossible for me to stare into his magnificently emerald eyes without thinking of bad thoughts.

I swear if there were one thing good about the Jewish culture, it'd have to be their having made beautiful people like Kyle Broflovski.

Maybe it's just me being jealous of his body physique, but I do admire him a bit more than I should—trust me, for a Jewish boy that's quite low in probability. I suppose now that I've accepted that I like him, my brain's going through the roof with this idea; I've particularly taken more notice at the way Kyle bends over in his seat, the way his shirt rises up, and the way my insides rumble when I see skin. He has the kind of body that makes me want to resort to Kenny love—one of the few human instincts I choose not to follow. On the inside I flip when I see him, and I know I'd take up any P.E. class in existence, against my will, just to be with him in the locker room.

And then, I look down at myself, only to find anything _but_ that same physique.

Kyle's also probably the only except I'll make in all ginger-ness—whether a daywalker such as himself or the more serious case of gingervitus-infected kids. Admittedly, as much as I hate light skin and freckles, it looks good on Kyle. Again, my mind's probably gone over the roof with this idea of liking Kyle, but that red Jewfro of his only makes me want him more.

There's this tendency people grow during crushes that the person they like is almost, if not, perfect. I suppose I've gone to that level with this—but it's not only his physical features I've grown to like. His boldness alone gets as me; every insult he throws at me seems to become more of a pleasure than an insult. He's also quite stubborn in what he does—I'll make sure he never forgets his stubbornness in not becoming a hygienic metro-sexual.

But that brings me at a point of confusion. His refusal to become a metro-sexual makes me lean toward the idea that he'd never like me, but at the same time he's got a Super-Best-Friend: Stan. Only fags have Super-Best-Friends; everyone else calls them BFFs. Clearly then, there would be some hope in that regard… until I'm painfully reminded that there would be a much _higher_ chance of him being with Stan than with me…

…Unless, of course, I claim him first.

It's early in the month of July when I get the chance with Kyle alone, one of the few months in South Park that Stark's Pond's actually melted. Stan's family, coincidentally, has gone off to visit Shelley at her college dorm, and is consequently gone for the whole weekend. And since Kenny's at home writing never ending amounts of essays to get as many scholarships as he take a hold off it's only me and him… finally.

"Uh, Cartman…?" he asks me as I move my hands in circular motions, much too tiring for my own good. "What the hell are we doing?"

"You'll see, Kahl." He groans under his breath as we continue, turning his head to the side as he watches the water's surface go by him. I'm sure he wouldn't rather watch me row the boat along to the center of the lake. When we come to a halt I continue. "Now, yeh bettah listen to me entirely before you make any conclusions, got it? ...Jewboy."

"Yeah, sure dude," he replies, completely evading my gaze. "You aren't going to… try and kill me, are you?—with an ineffective weapon, I mean…"

"No," I reply to him. It's now or never… but how would I go about telling him?

"I'm supposed to be at home watching Ike, dude."

"Goddamnit, I'm gettin' at it, I'm gettin' at it!" A short break follows—one long enough for me to catch what might be my last breath. "I think I may like yeh, Kahl." The Jewish boy remains motionless for quite some time, neither moving nor making a word—hell, I don't even think I can hear his breathing. The only thing he _is_ doing is gaping at me with an open mouth, and the expression he's giving me isn't quite welcoming. "I said, Kahl—"

"I know what you said, Cartman!" he snaps suddenly, tilting his head in a downward direction. I'm not sure what shocks him more; the fact that I'm actually capable of liking him is bad enough, but granted that it's _him_ I like… Well, he knows my policies just as well as I do, particularly because we hold the same ones. "Why, Cartman…?"

"I dun know, Kahl… I dun know. Yeh know I'd never associate myself with a goddamn Jew-ginger, but… I can't help it, Kahl."

"Yes you can," Kyle replies, and before I know it he's shuddering violently. What a wuss—if anyone at all's supposed to be affected by this it's me, not him. "Damnit, Cartman, why's it… why're you doing this to me, Cartman?" I let go of the oars as I grind my fist into the palm of my hand. Maybe expressing my love isn't something I shouldn't have done, a love not so readily accepted by others… including Kyle.

"I've reasoned with myself for a long time," I tell him. "I dun know what to do, Kahl. As much as I hate yeh I found mehself liking yeh more and more… and I couldn't do anything about it…"

"So what'd you want me to do about it?" The sentence rings in the air as somewhere in the distance a goddamned bird decides to ruin the mood between us. He's raised his head, glaring at me with cold green eyes as he bites his lip, and so suddenly I'm not thinking those thoughts anymore. No, somehow I've looked into his eyes… I already know my fate.

"Whatever yeh want out of it," I dismiss, taking hold of the oars once more to slowly bring us back. "I only wanted it off my chest. Besides, no one expects much outta me anyways."

"That's not true—" Kyle begins, but that immediately sets me off on a mini-tangent.

"Yer Kahl, though!" I exclaim, momentarily releasing the oars to point at him accusingly. "Yer going to Harvard!—people have big expectations outta yeh. Me… I'm just Cartman."

"You aren't just Cartman," Kyle says softly, and he reaches forward to hand me an oar.

"Yeah, I am…" My voice trails to nothing as I take the offered oar, resuming my goal of taking us back to shore. I'm not sure if this is the desired effect I wanted—I've confessed to the point where it's no longer beating at my chest every time I look at Kyle, but at the same he hasn't rejected me harshly enough for me to rip on him all the more as I previously reasoned.

Rejection is better than lukewarm acceptance.

"Listen," Kyle says slowly, sighing as he blew stray curls out of his vision. "I don't like you. I think now that I've thought about it more I do see where you're coming from… We clash quite perfectly, and maybe that's why you've developed these feelings… Before I would've completely dismissed you, probably not understanding any of your reasoning… But I do get it, Cartman. I'm sorry that I can't do anything about it, but…"

I already knew my fate. There hadn't been any surprise, and as we step off the canoe he does his best to smile at me. But I know deep inside he finds it completely absurd that I could ever like him to begin with. I know he's backed away because of my size, because of my personality, because I'm Cartman.

Without a heartbeat's passing a friendship can completely turn around, despite how twisted it had been to begin with. Two beautifully green orbs will forever avoid me to prevent awkwardness, a Kosher lunch will be robbed of my sight in his attempt to sit elsewhere, and a freckled smile will grow extinct in due time. Without a heartbeat's passing we'll grow apart, and even though the intention will only be to help me move on it does nothing to help our friendship. Without a heartbeat's passing I'll step back into the secluded world of my basement, locking myself up as I question where I had gone wrong. Everything will seem to pass—all without a heartbeat's passing.

Everyone in the end will just think I'm fat, incapable of loving anything but food. But no, not Kyle—yet he still didn't give me a chance.

_- Fin -_

All I wanted was to write something emotionally heartfelt. I hope I've somewhat succeeded.  
I dedicate this to three people. First, **_Brat-Child3_**, for being there for me when I needed help, and for writing the most awesome story in the world… you've been so much help to me, even if you don't realize it… and your story has given me more than just inspiration.  
Second, to _**style-xx**_, who, even though has been estranged from my readership and I from hers, has inspired me to keep writing. She writes beautifully, and I hope to one day write like she does.  
Finally, to _**Phoenix II**_ for keeping me sane… even though I didn't accept your logic at first I've slept over it and truly believe in what you've said. And quite frankly, I thank you for opening your ears when I needed someone to talk to.

If I ever hear from any of you again…  
_- Zak -_


End file.
